


The Boy Who Prayed

by triedunture



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Outdoor Sex, Psychic Bond, Sassy, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A telepathic bond leaves Sam and Castiel at odds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy Who Prayed

_How long will we be like this?_  Sam wonders, to which Castiel thinks,  _Until the effects of the incantation wear thin, I suppose._   
  
"Damn it, Cas," Sam huffs, turning to glare at the angel in the passenger seat. "I told you not to--"   
  
"My apologies." Cas frowns. "I thought that was directed at me."   
  
"Well, it wasn't." Sam returns his attention to the road. The fields on either side are flat and colorless in the night. The Impala growls along, the only car on the highway. Somewhere up ahead in town, Dean is waiting, having saved the girl from a vengeful spirit while Sam salted and burned. What was supposed to be routine had turned, well, not.    
  
Sam sighs. He feels the shape of Castiel's thoughts pressing in his brain. A low hum of concern overlaid by  _this man, this one, my charge, under my protection, must not, cannot, please Father, must not..._   
  
"Can you," Sam asks sharply, "I don't know, turn it down a little?"    
  
Castiel lifts his head. Sam watches the bright blue of his eyes reflected in the windshield. "I am trying," the angel grates out.    
  
Sam's not even sure what these thoughts point to; they're jumbled and shapeless, more of a feeling than an idea. He wonders if that is how Cas is receiving his thoughts too, or if his human mind is different. Maybe it crawls with black things, doubt and self-hatred and fear. Sam tries to think of something inconsequential and biege, but instead red memories leap to the front of his mind: Dean walking in on him masturbating when he was thirteen, the way he still thinks about how Jess looked naked, all the things he wants to keep hidden and private.    
  
Castiel shifts uncomfortably in his seat. One look at his drawn, pale face and Sam knows he's heard. He grips the wheel and grits his teeth.    
  
"There's no need to be ashamed," Castiel whispers more to the passenger window than to Sam.   
  
"Oh really?" Sam snaps. "Thanks, Cas. That makes it all so much better."   
  
_This man, his beautiful thoughts, Sam, the boy with the demon blood, the boy who prays, please don't, Heavenly Father, don't let him hear--_   
  
"Hear what?" Sam tears his eyes from the road to stare at the angel, curled small in the black leather seat. "What are you hiding?" Sam's mind is in a whirl, and he hopes desperately that Cas isn't picking up on the thoughts he's had of the angel, the little dreams and fleeting images he holds onto in the dark when he lies in a lonely motel bed with nothing but his brother's snores for company. He prays Cas won't see himself there in Sam's mind, an angel splayed out before him, a pure being in a world that has none left, his arms strong enough to hold Sam, his naked skin warmer than any blood. And of course once he tries not to think about it, he can think of nothing else.    
  
Sam jerks the wheel and brings the Impala to a rolling stop beside the road. He squeezes his eyes shut and cuts the engine. The engine ticks, the wind rustles through the wheat fields, and the rest is silence. The image in Sam's head will not go away, and he doesn't want to open his eyes and see Castiel's reaction. The guy is angelic, hasn't even kissed anyone yet, and fuck if Sam is going to see what he thinks of an abomination fantasizing about his mouth.

"Sam?" Cas's voice is low and dark, the growl of a big cat, maybe. A soft hand touches his brow, but Sam shies away and doesn't look up.    
  
"I'm sorry, okay?" The image changes from Castiel sprawled across Sam's ratty motel bed to something else: the two of them crammed into the backseat of the car, Sam's long limbs wrapped around Cas, their mouths wet and biting, the tear of a cheap white dress shirt. Sam blinks. He never thinks about the backseat because he know it's too small for him. So where did that idea come from...?   
  
"There's nothing to be sorry for." Cas slides closer on the bench seat, his hands now framing Sam's flushed face. Their eyes meet, and Sam swallows.    
  
_I must not,_  Cas thinks, a quiet song so unlike his human voice.  _And yet I do._   
  
"You too?" Sam asks, breathless. Cas doesn't bother with a response, just kisses him.   
  
Cas agrees mentally with Sam, the backseat will not do. Neither will the front seat with its switches and gear stick. A rustle of wings and they are outside. Sam blinks up at the night sky, the smell of dirt in his nose, the prick of wheat through his flannel shirt. He's on his back, Cas covering him with his body. Together, they make a crop circle.    
  
_I know you already,_  Cas thinks as he kisses Sam over and over.  _I know every inch of your soul, I know what you dream about. Let me show you._   
  
_God, yes_ , Sam returns, his lips never leaving Cas's.    
  
It should be dirty and quick, Sam thinks. It should be uncomfortable and awkward. But Cas is patient, and their clothes are gone and their skin meets, and Sam is flying.    
  
_The boy who prays._  Castiel gazes down into Sam's face, tracing his panting lips and sweat-soaked brow with calm fingertips.  _The boy who prays to me, who never stops praying._   
  
When Cas sinks down onto Sam's cock, Sam feels it like a punch in his gut, the sweet burn of it as if he was being fucked himself. Cas gives him a secret smile and rolls his hips.  _I feel you too._  The thoughts leak through Sam's brain like cool water through a sieve, some his own, some the angel's, all lit up with a white light.    
  
_Beautiful,_  Sam thinks as he watches Castiel arch above him, his head thrown back.  _I don't deserve--_   
  
_We do. We do._  Cas is hard and untouched, his erection dripping fluid onto Sam's stomach, a long stretch of tan skin marked slick and glistening.    
  
Sam sits up at the end, his long arms and legs wrapped around Castiel. He's holding an angel, he's holding a skyscraper, he is held by a golden soul. The thoughts make him dizzy, his and Cas's.    
  
"Golden?" he croaks later, much later, as they lie in the crop circle shaped by their bodies. Cas's hands tickle through his hair. The wheat itches but he doesn't mind.    
  
"As golden as the sun when it was first formed," Castiel says. Sam cannot hear his mind any longer, but that's all right too. He kisses Cas's fingertips and watches the sunrise crest over the wheat standing tall around them.    
  
They agree, silently, to keep Dean waiting a little longer.

 

 


End file.
